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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480202">Tried and True</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeef/pseuds/Zeef'>Zeef</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1950s Slang, British Slang, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Past Torture, Period-Typical Homophobia, Psychological Torture, Rescue Missions, Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Undercover Missions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:15:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480202</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeef/pseuds/Zeef</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt Mega is not an observant man, but he knew Owen Carvour better than he knew himself. When he came face to face with his old love, he could tell there was more to the situation than what met the eye. Curt swears to bring Owen back from the ruined place he'd found himself in and, with the held of his friends, put Owen back together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One Step Ahead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The staircase scene goes wildly differently. Curt is gay and loves Owen.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Welcome to TnT! This story will have a happy ending, eventually. Before then there will be lots of flashbacks to past events and cute things. I just wanted to give Owen a happy ending.</p><p>Warnings! Mentions of probable torture, guns, fear of death or potential self harm which does not occur, sedation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Why did Owen have to be so damn good at his job? Curt was good too, of course he was, he was the best at what he did, but Owen was the best at what <em>he</em> did as well. That made everything so much more difficult. The man was too damn good at hiding, at disappearing without a trace, and just staying one step ahead of Curt. That said, Curt was incredibly skilled at following a trail and finding an in to any situation. They were evenly matched in this race. Yes, Owen was one step ahead, but that was just where Curt needed him to be.</p><p>What had made Owen become… this? This bitter, angry man he hardly recognized? Why hadn’t he gone back to MI6 when he could? Curt understood not letting him know he was alive, but seriously, not going back to MI6? Owen was loyal to his homeland, loyal to his organization, all spies were. The fact that he hadn’t gone to them was more concerning than anything. Something had to seriously change within Owen for him not to return to England.</p><p>Why hadn’t he just killed Curt? He understood the torture, sure, Owen blamed him for his near death, and for abandoning him there to die. But, why did he shoot Susan and not him? It would have saved him this chase. Tatiana would have chosen to go after the compound anyway, Susan couldn’t have followed him, Barb wouldn’t be useful either. He would have been free to continue his evil deeds. By the time Tati turned her attention back to him, he would have been long gone. With his ability with undercover work, she would never find him.</p><p>So this was deliberate, right? This had to be deliberate. Curt knew Owen, he knew that if he hadn’t wanted Curt to follow him, he would have shot him in the head back at that Prussian place. But… why? Why would he want him to follow? Why would he want to be tracked? If he wanted to distract him, again, he would have just killed him. It made no sense to shoot Susan and not him. It made no sense why Owen would want him to follow. This wasn’t just revenge, this was business, this was work. Owen never put emotion before work, except that one time in East Berlin back in ‘55.</p><p>Curt followed Owen into a Russian weapons Facility, he followed him up the stairs until their guns found each other’s head, and they froze. Curt looked closely at Owen, all of him, taking him in without lowering his weapon. Something about this wasn’t right. He knew that look in Owen’s eye, he’s seen it so many times before. The hurt was there, the pain and anger, but more than that, more than that-</p><p>“Time to take your final bow, Curt,” Owen said, breaking the silence.</p><p>“My team is destroying your island facility as we speak. Your surveillance network is fried. There will be no encore tonight, for you,” Curt replied, also using theater terminology. He remembered, Curt remembered that Owen grew up in the West End, he knew his parents were performers, both on the streets and on the stage. If he could just connect with him, if he could remind him-</p><p>Owen did pause at that, blinking a bit. Aha, Curt was right. Something was very wrong here. He knew that look in Owen’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve destroyed that island facility, but what of the others?”</p><p>“There’s more?” Curt asked.</p><p>“How does it feel to know you’ll never catch up with us?”</p><p>Curt knew that damn look in Owen’s eyes. Something wasn’t right. He had to try, he had to reach out. He had to fix this. “It’s not too late to fix this. If you agree to give up Chimera, I’m sure the agency can pull some strings-”</p><p>“You still don’t see, do you Curt? There won’t be any agency to go back to once the system is global. I’m going to single handedly dismantle everything you’ve ever believed in,” Owen shouted. Curt didn’t like that, how Owen kept switching between saying ‘we’ and ‘I’ as if they were interchangeable, as if he was Chimera and Chimera was him. No. This wasn’t right. This was very, very wrong.</p><p>“You used to share those beliefs. Think of the missions we served. Lives we saved. The impact we had on this world. Together. Two of the greatest spies to ever live. You consider that, and you look me in the eyes and you tell me you don’t believe we’re making a difference,” Curt said. He had to try and snap him out of this, break him out of this before it got one of them killed. He knew that look, he knew it.</p><p>“The future is happening, Curt, and it’s not going to wait for you. What use would one man be when a box in a room can do his job in seconds?” Owen asked, almost sounding desperate, sad. </p><p>It wasn’t getting through. That wasn’t working. Curt needed a new tactic. “Sounds boring,” he said, trying fervently to think of something else, something to break Owen out of this.</p><p>“You’re a caveman, and I’ve invented fire,” Owen said. He sounded resigned, he sounded almost sad.</p><p>“I’ll stop you.”</p><p>“You’ll do your best,” Owen said, pausing. He seemed deep in thought as he reloaded his gun and aimed it once again at Curt’s head. “A new world awaits us, Curt. A world without agencies, a world without spies, a world without secrets.”</p><p>“Some secrets aren’t yours to share. What about our secret? The time we shared? The feelings we had. For each other. Are you ready to share that with the world?” Curt asked as he stepped closer so Owen’s gun would aim at his heart rather than his head. He had to remind him, he had to snap him out of this. This was going to get one of them killed if Curt didn’t snap him out of it.</p><p>“That secret died the night you left me for dead,” Owen said, adjusting his aim, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Good. Good. That was a step closer.</p><p>“Clearly,” Curt said, leaving himself wide open for Owen to shoot. He even went down another step and turned his back on him. <em>Come on. Come on, O, break out of this, come on.</em></p><p>“Here’s some advice, Curt. It’s called moving on, do give it a try,” Owen said.</p><p>Damnit. He wasn’t snapping out of it. Curt suddenly spun around and shot the gun out of Owen’s hand, sending it flying. If he didn’t he knew Owen was going to shoot him. He hadn’t, yet, but he wasn’t waking up. If he wouldn’t wake up, he had to assure his own safety before proceeding to hopefully force the snap.</p><p>Owen actually looked nervous now, but that look was still there. This was still part of the plan, Curt realized. This was expected. “You know, killing me won’t take the system offline, so... what are you doing?” His voice shook ever so slightly. He was expecting this, he was still under, and he was scared.</p><p>“Not a damn thing,” Curt said, putting the safety back on his gun and putting it in the waist of his pants.</p><p>Got him.</p><p>Owen blinked hard, looking taken aback. The tremor in his hand, the quick blinking, the look of confusion in his eyes as the expected response hadn’t come. He was in too deep. That was the look, the look in his eyes that Owen got when he went too deep undercover for too long and got lost in the role, lost in the cover. It was never pretty when he was coming out, and unlike his usual missions, that were months long, this had been four years.</p><p>Four fucking years. Curt didn’t know if he even realized he’d gone into his undercover mode, for survival or mental protection, but Curt fucking knew the look in Owen’s eyes when he was in too deep and was lost in the part. He was shaking now, but Curt didn’t dare move yet. He didn’t want to scare him into running and grabbing the gun behind him in an attempt to regain stability in what was now shaking ground.</p><p>“You’re supposed to kill me now,” he whispered, lost and confused. His accent was back, not the posh British accent he pulled around other people, his real London accent he spoke when they were alone.</p><p>“Well I’m not gonna do that,” Curt said, holding up his hands to show he truly wasn’t about to do anything to harm him.</p><p>“But-but you’re supposed to kill me,” Owen said. There’s the stutter. Curt hated the confused and lost look in his eyes, but it was necessary.</p><p>The fact that it was over the fact that Curt was allegedly ‘supposed to kill him’ concerned Curt greatly. This wasn’t a normal ‘in too deep’. Chimera managed to get past Owen’s deep rooted survival instinct. He’d been scared, yes, but he’d both expected and prepared the die. The thing that threw him off of his groove and caused the ‘snap’ was the fact that Curt refused to kill him. Curt thought his hypothesis that this was a survival measure seemed even more likely now. How else would they have gotten that deep into Owen’s head?</p><p>“I’m not gonna kill you, O. I won’t,” Curt said softly, slowly trying to take a step up the stairs towards him.</p><p>Owen, unfortunately, did react sharply to the movement, stumbling backwards up the stairs and landing on his butt at the top, looking addled and terrified. Curt held up his hands again, showing he was unarmed and not about to do anything. He might have expected Curt to kill him, but now that he was ‘snapped’ he was in a state of flux where his brain was going to be trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He was in fight or flight mode. It didn’t matter that he’d expected and prepared to die, he was in fight or flight mode now because his brain was fucked up and disoriented.</p><p>“It’s okay, Owen, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s Curt,” Curt said in a soothing tone, slowly getting into a crouch so he seemed less threatening.</p><p>“You tried to kill me they said you wanted to kill me they said you wanted to let me die they said you betrayed me they said you wanted me to die,” Owen quickly rambled, eyes darting around as if expecting a threat from anywhere.</p><p>“Baby, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. If I’d known you were alive I would have gone and rescued you, but-... I thought you died. They lied to you, O, they wanted to use you and got all that stuff in your head. I grieved for you the whole time we’ve been apart,” Curt soothed. Any real conversation about what happened could be saved for later, when Owen was in his right mind. Right now he just needed to calm him down so they could get out of there and back to the others.</p><p>Owen leaned forward and brought his shaking hands to the sides of his head as he tried to understand what was happening. “I-I, you- I’m supposed to die. You’re supposed to kill me,” Owen stated, returning to the last moment of stability he knew.</p><p>“But I’m not gonna, I’m not gonna kill you. You aren’t gonna die here tonight,” Curt said. “Can I come closer? Or are you gonna jump away again and fall down the stairs?”</p><p>When Owen was like this, it was like capturing a frantic, injured animal. Part of it was gaining trust and calming him down, but part of it was totally expecting him to be a dumbass on instinct and stumble down the stairs.</p><p>“You’re supposed to kill me,” he repeated in a whimper, clutching his head tighter now and squeezing his eyes tightly shut.</p><p>“I know, Baby, I know,” Curt said, daring to slowly pull himself up a step closer to Owen. “I’m gonna come a little closer now, is that alright?”</p><p>Owen wasn’t responding anymore, just sitting there with his eyes shut tight and shaking. That was a bad sign. Curt didn’t think he was going to be able to calm him enough to walk out of there. As Curt made another move forward, Owen flinched and scurried backwards again. He seemed to notice something, and before Curt could even swear, the gun he’d shot away was in Owen’s hand once more.</p><p>“I’m supposed to die. You’re supposed to kill me and I’m supposed to die,” Owen said frantically. He didn’t seem to know what to do now that he <em>had</em> the gun, his hand shaking as he stared at it.</p><p>“Honey, give that to me, okay? I’ll fix everything, just give me the gun,” Curt said, quickly getting up to the same floor as Owen. Bad. Very bad. Owen with no self preservation and a keen thought that he should be dying was very, very bad.</p><p>“I-I- I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to die,” he said, still staring at the gun in his shaking hand.</p><p>“I know, I know,” Curt said in his softest, most soothing voice. “It’s okay, Baby. I’m supposed to kill you, right? So I gotta have the gun, right?”</p><p>Owen stared at the gun as he processed that. It made no sense to Curt, no reasonable person would think like that, but Owen wasn’t okay right now, and he seemed to be genuinely questioning it. Finally, after a very tense moment, he held out the gun for Curt to take, seeming to be somewhat relieved that Curt was taking his role back. Curt took the gun and slammed it into Owen’s head. He caught Owen as he fell, lifting the far too light man into his arms as he fell unconscious.</p><p>“Tati, Barb, do you read me?” Curt said to his watch.</p><p>“Loud and clear, Curt, what is happening on your end?” Tati asked.</p><p>“I got Owen,” Curt said. “Not- I didn’t kill him.”</p><p>“... Okay… What do you mean you got him, then?” Tatiana asked.</p><p>“I mean he’s unconscious in my arms and I am going to get him to our current rendezvous point,” Curt said, adjusting his hold on Owen.</p><p>Tati paused, but Barb didn’t, asking, “Is it like before?”</p><p>Barb was the only person other than his mother who knew Owen had gotten too deep before. She was the only one he’d trusted at the agency to back him up when he needed time to help Owen out of his state. She’s also been the one he’d call to check him over physically, knowing more doctor shit than Curt did. Barb was a friend, someone Owen knew and trusted to a degree. She didn’t know they were an item, but she knew they were close.</p><p>“It’s like before but ten times worse multiplied by four years,” Curt explained as he began to search for a way out of the building.</p><p>“Jeepers. I’ll prepare the hotel room. You had to knock him out?” Barb asked.</p><p>“He was insisting that I was supposed to kill him, so yes, I had to knock him out,” Curt said.</p><p>“What do you mean, like before?” Tati asked. “I do not have the personal history here, you need to explain.”</p><p>“Owen was an agent specialized in undercover work. Undercover work puts a strain on your head, makes you get all mixed up about who you are. He’s gotten in too deep twice before, and a couple times not quite as bad. This is way worse than any of those. They fucked with him, I’m guessing torture, to get him to do what they wanted. He was undercover as himself. <em>Himself.</em> What kinda shit calls for a coping mechanism like that?” Curt explained.</p><p>“Shit, yeah, that is bad. I am almost done here, I will hopefully be back at the hotel in twelve hours, given flight times. He may trust me, from his work as the Deadliest Man. I might be of use,” Tatiana said.</p><p>“I’ll be there in nine, roughly,” Curt stated. “I’ll see you there.”</p><p>“Mega! There’s a compact in your left breast pocket that contains a sedative in the form of a dust. It should keep him out that long, if you reapply every three hours,” Barb said.</p><p>“You want me to do his makeup?” Curt asked as he found the exit and began to depart, looking for his vehicle.</p><p>“Powder his nose or deal with him awake and confused on your own for six hours, your choice,” Barb warned.</p><p>Curt rolled his eyes as he unlocked the car and then the back seat, getting Owen inside it before pulling out the compact. “Fine fine, but he’d better be extra pretty afterwards,” he joked. “How much do you put on? I don’t know makeup.”</p><p>“Hold your breath and tap the sponge gently on the side of the compact, then tap it on his nose twice. You don’t want too much on there or it’ll have some consequences,” Barb explained.</p><p>“Great, thanks. I’ll be driving if you need me,” Curt said as he hung up the call and did as Barb said. Owen, still unconscious, did not react to the powder in the least. That was fine. He’d probably check and make sure he was still breathing in a bit, but if he stayed asleep for a while it would probably be best. Owen didn’t look like he’d been sleeping much, and looked like he was in desperate need for a meal.</p><p>They’d get there. Barb was right, Curt didn’t want to try and contain Owen right now while in the middle of Red territory. If he woke up and ran off, it would end badly for both of them. He didn’t want to try feeding him anything until he was awake either, because that would be a mess in the car. His only option was to drive, and drive he did, only stopping for gas when he ran out. Nine hours was a long way to go in the silence, in enemy territory, with your boyfriend(?) knocked out in the back of your car. Getting back to West Berlin would be a relief, and he would get to konk out for a while. He could wait. Sleep could wait. Owen needed him, and he wasn’t going to fail him again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you all have a nice day! Next chapter will include how Curt and Owen met!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You're Not My Type</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Curt Mega is 23, gay, and in London for the day on business. Owen is 21, gay, and undercover in the Russian spy ring in London in need of rescue. Their meeting was fated by decree of the stars... and their bosses who want Curt to do his damn job. If they went to a gay bar afterwards, well, no one had any way of knowing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This is a fun chapter and a flashback to the first time Curt and Owen meet! Up to this point, Curt has been so deeply in the closet that he has entirely blocked out gay stuff and therefore doesn't really know anything about the culture or the lingo. Unhelpfully, Owen knows a very specific slang due to his background called Polari, so he is using really specific slang Curt would have no way of knowing. Most of the terms are explained right away. Some of them would be considered offensive today or simply aren't in use. Context where needed will be provided in end notes. I'm a history major, this is my idea of fun. So is creating a fairly accurate recreation of a medieval monastery in the sims 4</p>
<p>Warnings! Internalized homophobia mostly, and period accurate gay slang. There's guns and stuff but like this is Spies are Forever, not sure that needs warned. Oh, also a lot of Cold War thoughts about Russians so, yeah.</p>
<p>Warnings!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Curt Mega was a spy. Specifically, he was an agent of the American Secret Service that specialized in extraction: the act of entering a place and getting something or someone out of it in one piece. It could be anything from information and weapons to civilians or spies. Oftentimes, that involved causing as big of a bang as possible, to distract, frustrate, and confuse his targets. They knew that Agent Mega was there, that the Americans were aware, and that they couldn’t do shit about it without saying what they were up to, what he stole.</p>
<p>Curt Mega loved his job. Did it give him a hero complex? Maybe. But he was saving people, was it not justified?</p>
<p>Currently, he was in London, England. His mission was to extract a MI6 agent undercover with the Russian spies in the city. As far as they were aware the agent, one Owen Carvour, had not had his cover blown, but the Russians had decided he was a weak link and were planning on killing him. He was not to cause too much of a scene this time, because apparently the guy was one of their best undercover agents and they didn’t want to do anything that could risk him being unable to work again. That was why America lent Curt to the British, only the best for the best.</p>
<p>It was Summer in London, 1948, Curt was 23, the Cold War was heating up in Berlin, and he was on a Russian base attempting to rescue some posh Brit. He applied for the Secret Service the day he turned 21. An iron curtain had fallen over Europe and Curt had to help how he could. It turned out he was just the sort of agent they needed, and in the two years he had been working for them, he had become their go-to extraction agent. The job was going to be nothing for him, easy, like everything else. Curt had his job down to an art.</p>
<p>Getting in had been easy, getting through the place, shooting anyone who came at him was no challenge when they weren't expecting anyone. He was not causing a scene! There was a difference between shooting people who were a threat to him and his mission, and blowing a place up to send a message. He wasn’t sending a message this time, he was just getting in and out. Curt walked through the place without issue, searching for the room his mission was supposedly locked in. If the guy was already dead, Curt was going to be pissed.</p>
<p>He opened the door to a cell that matched the description he’d received and found a gangly young brunette inside. The guy had thick facial hair and a hat, and looked up when Curt entered, looking like he expected to be attacked. He did appear to have been roughed up some, but nothing serious. The guy- who Curt was assuming was Owen Carvour, he didn’t know because they hadn’t provided him a photograph, shouted at him in Russian, causing Curt to raise his hand to assure him he meant no harm.</p>
<p>“I’m here to rescue you,” Curt explained, not going into specifics because of their location.</p>
<p>“Rescue?” the guy said, suddenly speaking in a posh English accent. He stood up and winced, holding his side as he did. “I don’t need a rescue, but a helping hand in escaping would be appreciated.”</p>
<p>“Ah, you’re one of those types. Alright, let’s get going,” Curt said, shooting a Russian who ran down the hallway towards them.</p>
<p>“One of those types?” the guy-Owen asked as he limped out of the room with Curt.</p>
<p>“Yeah, one of those proud types. I wouldn’t expect anything less of a Brit,” Curt said, smirking at Owen as they walked down the hall, shooting anyone who tried to stop them.</p>
<p>“Is that so? Have you been to London before?” Owen asked.</p>
<p>Curt pulled Owen behind cover as someone began shooting at them from the room they needed to walk through to get out. “No, I haven’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t know you guys are too proud to admit you need rescued.”</p>
<p>“I am no damsel in distress, you American brute,” Owen said, though it sounded more like he was teasing.</p>
<p>Interesting. He’d been expected a stuck up posh bastard. This guy did seem like a bastard, but he was… actually teasing him back? Curt couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under that disguise he was wearing. Nope- no not thinking about that right now. He couldn’t help but look closer at him though. Owen seemed underweight. Curt would have to fix that… Good God, he was becoming his mother.</p>
<p>“What, did I break your brain?” Owen teased.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t expecting a posh English bastard to have a sense of humor, that’s all,” Curt replied, finally getting a shot in.</p>
<p>“Who said I’m a posh English bastard?” Owen asked, suddenly doing a Scottish accent.</p>
<p>Curt couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Stop! I’m trying to shoot!” he said.</p>
<p>“What? Is this one any better?” Owen asked, doing an Irish accent.</p>
<p>Finally, he shot the last one and helped Owen stand back up. “Oh so much better,” Curt teased, “though the posh one suits you more, since you are a bastard.”</p>
<p>“I can be a bastard whether or not I’m English,” he said a British accent Curt didn’t recognize.</p>
<p>“What was that one? I knew the other two,” Curt said, assisting Owen out the fire escape he’d entered through.</p>
<p>“Welsh,” Owen replied, back in the posh accent.</p>
<p>“Where’s that?” Curt asked.</p>
<p>“Ah, you’re a bastard <em>and</em> an idiot,” Owen said.</p>
<p>“A bastard idiot who got us out of there,” Curt said.</p>
<p>“Not yet!” Owen said quickly, pulling Curt back behind cover as they were shot at. He pulled a gun from Curt’s waist and shot the Russian before Curt even noticed he was there. “Watch your back.”</p>
<p>“You seem to be doing a fine job of watching it for me,” Curt said.</p>
<p>“I won’t watch the back of someone I don’t know the name of, love, you’ll have to give me something to call you other than ‘Agent’,” Owen said.</p>
<p>They worked well as a team, shooting down the Russians who were attempting to prevent their escape. Owen was a good shot, it seemed, which was no surprise. If he was a top agent at such a young age, he had to be. “Curt,” he said, pulled Owen along with him as the shooting lessened.</p>
<p>“Curt?” Owen asked before laughing a bit. “You wouldn’t like how that sounds in my actual accent.”</p>
<p>“That isn’t your real accent?” Curt asked as they ran.</p>
<p>“This way,” Owen said, pulling Curt into an alleyway suddenly, rushing through it to the other end and into the crowd of the street. “No, it isn’t, this is my ‘secret agent’ accent.”</p>
<p>“You’re dopey,” Curt said as they put their weapons away and blended in with the others. “Is Owen your real name?”</p>
<p>“It is,” Owen replied. “Is Curt yours?”</p>
<p>“Curt Mega. I know your first and last name, it’s only fair that you know mine too,” Curt said. “Did they feed you there? You’re skin and bones.”</p>
<p>“Who are you, my mother?” Owen asked. “No, they didn’t. They didn’t have much food in general, so the ‘weakest link’ only got the scraps.”</p>
<p>“Let me get you something to eat before we get your agency,” Curt said. “I’m not your mom, but I know how long debriefing can take.”</p>
<p>Owen ducked his head down and took off his disguise and- oh. Pretty. Shit-nope, no no no, Mega, not the thought to be thinking nope nope nope. Still… He was… he had… Curt knew he wasn’t supposed to think about that, he wasn’t supposed to notice that, but-... Owen was so pretty. His eyes? His cheekbones? His hair? Shit. This could only mean trouble.</p>
<p>“You alright there, love? You’re staring,” Owen asked, giving him a teasing smile and oh God that didn’t help at all, did it.</p>
<p>“I-d-I don’t- I’m fine,” Curt said, shaking his head and averting his eyes. “Do you know anywhere around here to eat?”</p>
<p>“Why eat around here? You have one day in London, Curt, who knows if you’d let this chance again. Let me take you to my favorite place in the city,” Owen said, grabbing his arm gently and pulling him.</p>
<p>Curt found himself nodding and allowing himself to be taken by bus to some other part of the city. He had no idea where he was, and it all felt like a blur. They were talking, throwing teases back and forth at each other, but Curt was distracted the entire time by Owen. He wasn’t supposed to get like that, not with a guy, Curt knew that, he knew he shouldn’t feel like this, but… he couldn’t help it. And Owen was just incredibly distracting. He was clever and witty and handsome, and an amazing shot.</p>
<p>Owen was pulling him off of the bus and along the street. Curt was amazed by the theaters, the lights. It was like New York. He missed New York. For a moment he wondered if his mother was well, but then Owen smiled at him again and he found himself once again distracted. Owen opened the door to some place called The Crown and Two Chairmen, some sort of pub, and got them seated.</p>
<p>“This is your favorite pub?” Curt asked.</p>
<p>“My absolute favorite. I’ve been coming here since I was in my teens,” Owen replied.</p>
<p>“What do you recommend then?” Curt asked, looking at the menu.</p>
<p>“We’re both getting the fish and chips. You ought to try proper fish and chips while you’re here,” Owen said.</p>
<p>Curt rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, looking at the menu anyway. “Are you old enough to drink legally?”</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you on about? Of course I am, I’m not a bloody teenager, no matter how youthful I may seem,” Owen replied.</p>
<p>“Shit, drinking age is lower here, right? Sorry,” Curt said, slapping his forehead.</p>
<p>Owen just stared at him for a moment before breaking out into laughter, ordering a beer for himself as Curt ordered his own drink. “You’re fortuni but you’re an idiot,” he said, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“What the fuck does that mean?” Curt asked, causing Owen to laugh again. God, it was a pretty laugh. He was pretty. Shit- stop that, Mega! Stop it! He couldn’t help but stare though, at his eyes, at his hair as it fell in front of his face.</p>
<p>Owen stared back before laughing a bit and rolling his eyes. “Are you bold or what?” he asked, sounding more like he was asking for confirmation than anything.</p>
<p>“Am I what? I guess I am, I don’t under-”</p>
<p>“You don’t use that term in America, alright, let’s try… fruit? Are you a fruit?” Owen asked.</p>
<p>Oh. Curt knew that one.</p>
<p>“I-Well, no, I’m not- I don’t- I like… women…” Curt stuttered.</p>
<p>Owen laughed again and shook his head, sitting back in his seat. “I’m a chicken. You’re a chicken. We’re both chickens in a pub fit for the bold.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean?!” Curt cried, only making Owen laugh harder.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay, let’s… Bold means gay. Do you know gay?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yes?” he said.</p>
<p>“It means homosexual, dear,” Owen said.</p>
<p>Curt paused for a second before sitting back. “What? Okay…”</p>
<p>“Right. A chicken is a young gay man. I am a young gay man. Are you a young gay man?” Owen asked.</p>
<p>“I-...” Curt was conflicted, because this felt like a trap, but… But Owen was pretty and looked so amused. “I’m not really…”</p>
<p>“Love, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me, you are at least bibi,” Owen teased.</p>
<p>“The fuck is that?” Curt asked, thankfully drinking from the beer he was given.</p>
<p>“Bisexual. You think I’m handsome, don’t you?” Owen asked.</p>
<p>Curt paused far too long for that to not be an answer.</p>
<p>“Love, it’s okay. If you aren’t okay with yourself yet, that’s fine. You’re allowed to have feelings for men. I personally think you’re quite handsome. You’re allowed to find love too. That’s not just a thing for squares, you’re allowed to have it too, your own way,” Owen said.</p>
<p>Curt didn’t know what to say in response to that. Homosexuality was illegal, they were agents of their governments. Love wasn’t in the picture for an average agent, not when death was so likely. You get married, you have a kid, you die and leave him fatherless taking care of his mother and trying to make ends meet. If you add illegality into it? Curt would lose his job if he was lucky, find himself in even worse trouble if not. They didn’t want homosexuals working for the Secret Service. He would lose everything. And his mother? He couldn’t force her to live with the social stigma of raising a homosexual.</p>
<p>Owen was eating his fish and chips. He wasn’t just eating them, he was eating it as quickly as possible. He was shoveling it in his mouth like a man starved. Curt couldn’t help but laugh. God, was this what it was like? Falling for someone? Owen was handsome and clever and funny, and eating the fried food like his life depended on it. It was just so… endearing. It was endearing.</p>
<p>“Are you going to eat that?” Owen asked, pointing at Curt’s untouched food.</p>
<p>“Nuh uh, you aren’t getting my fish shit no way,” Curt said, slapping his hand and beginning to eat. He did hand Owen another fish stick thing though. He needed to regain that weight he’d lost. God, he really was turning into his mother.</p>
<p>“Blasted, you’ve caught me red handed,” Owen teased as he ate the new fish finger. “Why are you laughing at me?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re-” Curt cut himself off and went down to a whisper, “because you’re fucking cute, alright?”</p>
<p>“YES!” Owen shouted. “You admit it! You’re queer.”</p>
<p>“Shh!” Curt said.</p>
<p>“Love, what part of ‘we’re in a pub populated by homosexuals’ did you not understand?” Owen teased, drinking from his glass.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean you can just, tell the world!” Curt hissed.</p>
<p>"They don't care! None of them care, love, they are just as queer as you," Owen assured.</p>
<p>"Still!" Curt said, still not quite believing him, though he did feel slightly embarrassed.</p>
<p>Owen just started laughing again. “You’re safe here, Curt. Enjoy yourself.”</p>
<p>Curt stared at him for a moment before raising his eyebrows and drinking from his own glass. “Fine, I’ll enjoy myself. Do you know how to jive?”</p>
<p>“Do I? I bet I’m a much better dancer than you. Whoever loses pays for our next after mission meal,” Owen said.</p>
<p>Curt liked that he was assuming they’d see each other again. It was unlikely, but the idea was nice. He could pretend it was real for the night. He could pretend for the night that he was allowed to be himself. He could pretend to be normal for a night. Curt and Owen danced (Owen was the better dancer, by far, it wasn’t even a fair competition), and drank, and laughed. It was a blur, but it was a nice blur. It was just… nice. It was nice. Curt was normal. He was dancing with someone he liked, he was happy. It was like a dream.</p>
<p>In the morning, Curt dropped Owen off at his agency, stating they needed to lay low after the mission because they were followed. Nobody needed to know, Curt reasoned. There was no way for anyone to know. He doubted he would ever see Owen again after that night. Their jobs didn’t allow for many opportunities like that. Still, he would always remember that night, and thank Owen for providing him with the memories. One night where he could be himself. Owen was a strange dream, but a lovely one nevertheless.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- Dopey means goofy<br/>- the Crown and Two Chairmen was frequented by the LGBT community back then and is now just a normal pub with a rich history<br/>- Fortuni means pretty or handsome. Owen is basically saying that Curt's pretty but stupid, which is indeed true<br/>- Jive means dancing, basically<br/>- Curt is not from NYC, he is from a town in New Jersey NEAR NYC and loves the city. Owen is from Soho in the West End.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. How Did I Get Back Here?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Owen wakes up in the present day of the story and... isn't okay.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was an absolute bastard that refused to let me write it. Usually I can write a chapter in one sitting, this one took like four sittings and like two weeks. On top of that I am experiencing a lot of turmoil in my real life which can make writing difficult, apologies in advance for any problems I may have posting in the future!</p><p>Next chapter is a flashback to their first official date, or perhaps their first two dates depending on how long they each take.</p><p>Warnings! Mostly just stress and confused ways of thinking. Like this is a chapter full of anxiety, just, oops, anxiety.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"He'll be waking up soon."</p><p>"What do we do then? What can we expect?"</p><p>"I have no idea what state he'll be in when he wakes up. We'll have to play it by ear." Same voice as the first one.</p><p>"Should we restrain him?" Same voice as the second. Russian.</p><p>"Not… yet. If he wakes up restrained it could make him panic more than if he wakes up like this." Same voice as the first one. American. Male.</p><p>"And if he tries to kill us?" Russian. Female.</p><p>"If he was 'allowed' to kill you or I, he would have shot us and not Susan. The most at risk is Barb, but I don't think he'd find a reason to hurt her. Plus, he did always like you," the American man said as he stroked Owen's hair.</p><p>Owen felt his body shift as he slowly awoke. He wasn't fully awake yet, aware enough to hear the quiet talking in the room around him but not enough to truly understand who they were or what was happening. The hand running through Owen's hair was comforting. He felt safe, which was a strange feeling because he couldn't remember the last time he felt that way.</p><p>"Should I leave?" an American woman asked.</p><p>"No, Barb, he'll trust you more than Tatiana, I'll need you here," Curt-</p><p>Curt.</p><p>Panic filled Owen as he attempted to escape, scrambling to get out of the bed and away from Curt. His arms had been to his chest where he'd been curled up on his side under the blanket, so in his blind panic he had managed to tangle himself in the blankets with his arms beneath him as Curt pinned him to the bed. Owen screamed and fought against him, trying desperately to get free, sobbing from his fear. Why was he scared?</p><p>Curt was going to kill him. He wanted to kill him. He'd tried to kill him. He'd left him for dead. Curt was supposed to kill him. That was part of Chimera's plan. Owen was supposed to anger and antagonize Curt until he killed him and decided to heroically destroy Chimera. Then, they would use his obsolete methods and their failures when he inevitably failed to show how pointless the average spy was now that modern technology existed. Owen was supposed to be that catalyst, the thing he killed to make Curt mad enough to fail.</p><p>Curt was supposed to kill him, but he wasn't. He was pining him to the bed, yes, but he was whispering soothing words to Owen as he struggled and cried. Owen couldn’t fight forever though, and after a few minutes he laid there quietly crying on the bed. Curt was still holding him down, knowing he would attempt to flee again if he didn’t, and continued whispering soothingly to him, humming softly. Owen was still breathing hard, partially because of his position and partially from the panic that hadn’t truly left him, and Curt was trying to guide him through calming down.</p><p>“Okay, I’m going to sit up and pull you into my lap so it’s easier to breathe, okay?” Curt asked.</p><p>Panic filled Owen again at the idea of that, and instinctively he began to fight against Curt again, who had loosened his hold some. The surprise of that caused him to push back down in a way that aggravated the old wound in his back, causing Owen to cry out in pain and stop moving. It was Curt’s fault, both the injury and the current pain, and his panic didn’t decrease any at that realization.</p><p>“Okay okay okay, it’s okay, O, it’s alright, you’re okay,” Curt said, gently moving Owen back to lay face up on the pillows again. “You’re safe. No one here is gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt you okay? I’m going to sit beside you here on the bed, and I won’t touch you, you just lay still, okay? Can Barb look you over to see what’s wrong?”</p><p>Barbara Lavernor. Owen remembered her. She was no threat to him. His memories of the past were hazy. It was difficult to know what he could trust and what had been… suggested by Chimera. Even so, he only seemed to have positive memories of her, so he doubted they’d known she’d existed. That meant he could trust her… right? Or was it a bad sign? Everything felt mixed up, what he could trust and what he couldn’t. Still though, Barb was harmless, she was no threat.</p><p>Still, Owen shook his head slightly. He didn’t need her to look him over because he knew what was wrong. Owen had moved the wrong way when Curt put pressure on him once more and it had aggravated the spot where his back had broken when he fell, that was all. He didn’t want to speak and explain that though, he didn’t want to say anything other than the string of curses that had been coming from his mouth since the pain began. That was more a natural reaction to the pain than anything he had real control over in his state, and should not be counted as speaking.</p><p>“Old wound then?” Curt asked quietly.</p><p>Owen did not respond, though he did begin to observe the room around him to get a feel for what was happening. Curt sat back against the headboard, otherwise laying on the bed beside Owen. The room had two beds, and Owen assumed the girls were sharing the other one given the ruffled sheets. Anything potentially dangerous had been removed, even any decorations that had been on the walls, he could see the places where the wallpaper wasn't as faded. Their bed was on the opposite side of the room from the door, with a window between the beds where a few sitting chairs were around a small table.</p><p>They were planning on being there a while, it seemed. Owen assumed the washroom was on the other side of the wall that the girls’ bed was against, right near the door. He couldn’t tell where they were in the world, but he rationalized that they were likely in the West somewhere. German then, or Switzerland, given the location of the Gala and everything that had happened afterwards. Barb had to have been located nearby, and her equipment was in the room. She was too small to carry it all herself, so she couldn’t have moved much then. Berlin? Or perhaps Geneva? Either way, somewhere German.</p><p>Given the daylight streaming through the window, he could tell a fair amount of time had passed. Curt looked exhausted, to get back to Germany- sorry, “Prussia”. How idiotic of them, everyone knew Prussia was disbanded after the Great War, their attempts at gaining freedom from Germany were silly at best and disadventagious at worst considering they were already basically in the hands of the Russians and impoverished. Leaving East Germany was only going to make their problems worse, but what did Owen know?</p><p>Anyway, Curt was clearly quite tired, and to drive back to Berlin it would be roughly nine hours. They’d done the trip in reverse not long ago, Owen knew the length it took to get there and back. He guessed, given the amount of light and the way it was coming in the window, as well as the fact that it did seem that Curt had slept a bit before Owen awoke, that it was likely closer to twelve hours he’d been unconscious rather than nine. If they’d kept him unconscious another three, it would have allowed Curt to rest before Owen woke so he could better handle the situation, and allow time for Tatiana to return from her mission. It only made sense.</p><p>Curt reached out to, Owen assumed though he couldn’t be certain, brush Owen’s hair out from where it had fallen in front of his eyes. That seemingly instinctive fear of him returned and Owen attempted to scramble out of the bed again, not getting far because of the pain in his back and Curt’s quick reflexes. Before Owen could get off the bed, Curt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him onto his lap, holding him tightly. Owen didn’t know how to react to that other than holding onto him tightly and bursting into tears again.</p><p>Curt was going to kill him, he was supposed to kill him, why was he holding him, why was he stroking his hair and shushing him as Owen clung to him desperately. Every recognizable part of him screamed that he shouldn’t let Curt touch him, that it was the worst possible thing he could do, but some deeper piece of him felt like he needed it more than he needed air.</p><p>“I don’t understand, I don’t- I don’t understand,” he found himself saying as he clung to Curt.</p><p>“It’s okay not to understand right now. You’re coming out of a bad time, it’s okay,” Curt said softly.</p><p>“You want to kill me, you’re going to kill me, you tried to kill me, you want me dead,” Owen said, over and over, though he couldn’t make himself let go. It was like having water after a long day in the sun, it was like a hearty meal after a hard day’s work. Curt’s touch felt like a necessity to survive a moment longer, even as Chimera’s voice screamed in his head that it was all wrong.</p><p>“I don’t. I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want you dead, I’m not going to kill you, I didn’t try to kill you. It was an accident that night, O, no matter what they told you, it was an accident. I’d never hurt you on purpose, never,” Curt assured. “Chimera told you that stuff, they put those thoughts in your head, made you think I need to kill you. I’m not gonna kill you, Owen, I won’t.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Owen whimpered.</p><p>“That’s okay, that’s totally okay,” Curt said, his voice soothing despite the panic Owen couldn’t shake from Curt’s presence.</p><p>He knew, the rational ‘Owen’ part of his brain knew that this was all silly, that he ought to get a grip and… that was as far as the thought went, it wasn’t quite sure of what came after he ‘got a grip’. Owen did know he didn’t exactly like the two girls seeing him like this. Not because they were girls, of course, but because they weren’t-</p><p>But why should he feel better with just Curt seeing him like this? Why should he even allow Curt near him? He was left broken and bleeding in a facility that blew up soon after his fall by Curt. His back and left knee and right ankle and left shoulder were all going to bother him for the rest of his life because of that fall. He was taken by Chimera because of that fall. That was Curt’s fault. Everything that happened to him after that night was Curt’s fault, Chimera made that as clear as possible.</p><p>They knew about him and Curt. They told him that the moment he woke up in their base. They then proceeded to do everything they could to twist his feelings into being filled with anger towards Curt and being terrified of him at the same time. Owen didn’t know why, only the after effect of him being willing to do whatever they told him to do in order to get revenge. Chimera saved him, Chimera fixed him up and showed him the truth about their relationship, about Curt. Owen wanted nothing to do with him, he wanted to-... well, he didn’t want to kill him because Chimera wanted him alive. He wanted to make him suffer? He wanted to make him understand the pain he’d gone through due to Curt’s actions.</p><p>… But if that was true, why was he still clinging to Curt like he was a lifeline, even after his tears had dried and Curt’s hold had grown softer? Owen, theoretically, could try to kill Curt right there where they sat on the bed, Curt wouldn’t be able to stop him from trying. He knew Tatiana would stop him, but he theoretically could try. He wasn’t though, he was resting his head on Curt’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat and calm breaths. It was comforting, it shouldn’t be comforting but it was and Owen was so confused.</p><p>One of the girls moved in their seat, Owen thought it was Barb, and it made him a bit more present again. God, how was this going to look to them? Two men holding each other like this? Him in Curt’s lap? Owen’s conflicted feelings about the man aside, if Barb suspected they were gay, it could ruin everything for Curt. He wasn’t worried for himself, he had nothing to go back to as far as he was aware. MI6 had been all he had from the time he was 18 on, and he wasn’t sure they’d take him back after his four year disappearance, whether or not they thought he was a homosexual.</p><p>Curt though, he had a job, he had the support of his boss, usually. He had a mother who was still blissfully unaware of her son’s sexuality and the potential fallout it could cause. Owen didn’t have anyone, aside from Curt and MI6 and, well, and Chimera. Why shouldn’t he return to Chimera? Why shouldn’t he go back to his saviors? They saved him, fixed him up, and showed him why he should hate Curt. Why not escape and return to them, explain the situation, let him kill him to fix his mistakes?</p><p>“How’s he doing?” Barb asked softly.</p><p>Owen realized his stream of consciousness was nonsensical and confused. He remembered a time when he was a logical, reasonable, focused person. Now, everything was so jumbled, he couldn’t hold onto one particular thought for long before it dissolved into another. Was it because of Chimera? This problem had been happening for a fair amount of time now, that meant it was likely.</p><p>“He’s calmer now,” Curt said quietly. “He can hear us just fine, he’s just not here enough to take part in conversation.”</p><p>Owen wasn’t sure how he felt about Chimera. On one hand, the loyalty they had indoctrinated into him was hard to shake, and kept creeping into his thoughts. Their plans and beliefs were constantly in his awareness, something he couldn’t break from if he wanted to. On the other hand, he had snapped out of their control enough to be aware that they had harmed him, they had manipulated him, twisted his mind, influenced his memories. It was hard to decipher what was true and what was false, what he believed and what they made him believe.</p><p>“Do you think you can get him to eat something?” Tatiana asked.</p><p>Tatiana wasn’t untrustworthy, Owen decided. She had been accepted by Chimera as a tool, and she was against Chimera, so both parts of his mind could reason trusting her, realistically. Another part of his mind, the most paranoid part, feared her desire for revenge because of what he’d done to her. Surely she was angry, surely she would want him to suffer for what he did, for what he put her through.</p><p>“I killed your friend,” Owen said softly, not in response to her question, more that he’d just realized that was a thing he’d done.</p><p>“You didn’t, Susan is still alive,” Barb said, “I got them aid before it was too late.”</p><p>Owen looked up, surprised. He hadn’t killed them? Owen wasn’t entirely sure he’d been trying to kill them, in all fairness. The last few years of being a killing machine had him killing without thought, whether he wanted to or not. He had never been meant to be a killing machine. He was an undercover agent, he was an infiltrator, he was only supposed to kill when necessary for his survival or his cover. He wasn’t Curt, who killed because it was his job to get in and out of places. If Owen did his job correctly, no one ever knew he was a spy and or tried to kill him. He didn’t have to kill anyone. </p><p>Yes, over the years he’d been given the more difficult jobs, the covers where he was a torturer or a killer, someone rough to get into rough crowds, and he had to do terrible things to survive, but that was different than the Deadliest Man. Not all of the killings were done by him, most were either faked or done by Chimera’s operatives using the same mask he’d used. In Owen though, they’d seen their choice for players when it came to the part of the Deadliest Man. Once he was chosen, the jobs related to the role became his. It wasn’t the work he’d been meant for, but because he was skilled at being undercover they’d said it was good enough.</p><p>He wasn’t supposed to be a killer, not like that, he was an undercover agent, he was an actor with intention. Owen had tortured and killed, yes, but of the two of them, Owen wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the higher kill count. He was ‘squishy’, he was the one that needed rescuing when shit hit the fan. He wasn’t supposed to be the deadliest man on the planet, he wasn’t supposed to be known by the world as a sadistic maniac who killed for fun. He wasn’t supposed to be known at all.</p><p>“Owen, Owen, it’s okay, talk to me, why are you panicking?” Curt asked, stroking his hair.</p><p>Owen hadn’t realized he’d begun hyperventilating again, or that he was shaking until Curt spoke. How could he explain the problem? Nothing could fix it, this wasn’t something that could be fixed, he had a massive amount of blood on his hands that he couldn’t wash off. Curt couldn’t fix the amount of bodies he’d created, the number of people’s family he’d put in the ground. There was no fixing that, nothing could fix that. He was a cold blooded killer, but before it was only people who deserved it. How had those people deserved it?</p><p>Because Chimera said they did?</p><p>“Susan isn’t going to hurt you, they aren’t going to try and get revenge, I promise you that,” Curt said soothingly.</p><p>“No!” Owen said, trying to sit up on his own, though Curt resisted him doing that after what he’d done earlier and the amount he was panicking now. “I hurt so many people, I killed so many people, Curt-I, they, I-”</p><p>Curt pulled him close again and continued stroking his hair. “I know,” he said softly. What else could he say?</p><p>“Your actions under the control of others aren’t entirely your own. You were surviving. The guilt seems impossible to live with, but you will,” Tatiana said in her stern but comforting way.</p><p>Owen looked into her eyes as he slowly got his breath back under control. He knew her past, he knew what she’d done. If anyone understood what he was going through it would be her, wouldn’t it? Owen had been fond of her in the brief time they’d worked together. Perhaps some part of his mind, whatever part wasn’t devoted to Chimera, felt their similarities. In any case, he was glad she was there, because she understood some of what he was going through better than anyone else.</p><p>“Thank you, Tatiana,” Owen said softly, giving her a slight nod.</p><p>“You do need to eat something, will you eat if I bring you something? I can even test it in front of you first if you would like,” she stated.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said softly and relaxed as she left to get them something they would all eat.</p><p>Owen knew this wasn’t as bad as it was going to get. This wasn’t as bad as it could get. He was struggling to string together thoughts and conversations, but it could be worse. It likely would get worse. He was going to have to come to terms with what Chimera did to him and fully snap out of their grasp mentally, which had yet to happen. Owen was going to have to work through the trauma and stress and pain and these people were along for the ride.</p><p>That wasn’t going to be fun for any of them. The paranoia was already terrible, but when he was panicking about who he even was and who his loyalties were to, it was going to be even worse. For now he was himself enough to relax in Curt’s arms. Later in the day? Tomorrow? It was as uncertain as the future always was. They had no choice but to face it though, and face it they would.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want to add that this chapter takes place roughly over an hour, like Owen just sits there, occasionally starts hyperventilating, then continues staring at the wall.</p><p>Next chapter is 1950 in America! If the second date exists, it'll be also 1950, but in East Berlin!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Where You Are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It is 1949 and Owen once again found himself in a pickle. Luckily, his handler contacted the Americans about an extraction effort. They did not expect, however, for him to return a day after the rescue attempt in different clothes with a baseball score sheet in his pocket.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has been a while since I posted, sorry, here is the next chapter. It's a bit of a long one, like a chapter and a half or so, because it was all one event and I couldn't cut it up into two without breaking the pattern of the story. Thank you to those who continue to read this story despite slow postings! My dad died in August so it's been hard to write, but I have been trying my best! I currently do not intend to stop writing this story until it has reached a good conclusion, but I do not yet know when that will be. Please be patient with me! I've just started the last semester of my undergrad degree also which does not make things easier, so I am going to be trying my best!</p><p>This chapter is from Owen's perspective as well, next two will but Curt's. There is some fifties slang in this chapter because I forgot what year it was and I enjoy what is written too much to check if it was used before. Most things will be, but I wanted to specify because I am a history major and I like to be as accurate as I can be.</p><p>Warnings! Mentions of kinda torture at the beginning? Sexual joke. Just a lot of trying to make Curt blush.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the written record, most of Owen's missions did not require rescue. Those were simply the ones that Curt was connected to and therefore of note. In fact, the majority of his missions went quite well and no one aside from his superior and Owen himself knew he’d ever been where he’d gone. He was skilled with deception, at stealth and thievery of information. Owen was the best undercover agent since the second world war, at least from the British perspective. Of course it was possible that Russia had someone they were unaware of, but as far as England was aware, Owen had always stayed one step ahead of the enemy.</p><p>Sometimes mistakes happen though, that is not his fault. Every spy reaches the end of their rope… or in this case, gets hung upside down by a rope tied to their legs. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, he’d been there for a few hours, though he wasn’t sure quite how long it had been, and his blood was pooling in his head in an uncomfortable way, not to mention how his breathing was getting a bit more difficult. He doubted he would die there, he was more likely being stored there until their boss returned from wherever he’d gone. Owen wasn’t too sure though, he felt dizzy and fuzzy in the head and he couldn’t be sure of anything at the moment.</p><p>There was the sound of shots somewhere nearby in the building. Owen was uncertain if it was a rescue or if they were simply having an infighting situation. If they were, Owen assumed they’d found out what he’d done and would be in shortly to shoot him. September of 1949 seemed as fine of a time as any to die. If it was a rescue, well, Owen prepared himself for either situation. He knew if they got him right side up he would have a bit of difficulty recovering right away to get out of there. Owen wasn’t sure what would happen but he knew it probably wouldn’t be comfortable.</p><p>The door to the dark room burst open and the light was flicked on, causing Owen to blink and squint, trying to allow his vision to adjust. It was hard to see clearly because of everything that was going on, but the figure seemed familiar, somehow. There was a man with a black and red jacket and black hair. He seemed like someone Owen met a year or so ago, but he couldn’t see him clearly from the distance and while his back was turned as the man shot down the hallway.</p><p>Another moment passed before the man rushed fully into the room and started getting Owen untied. “How conscious are you?” the man asked.</p><p>“Conscious,” Owen stated, finding his voice slightly slurred and harsh. Perhaps he had been hanging upside down longer than he’d thought.</p><p>“Alright,” the man said, catching Owen as he fell and trying to flatten Owen out slower before raising his head up. He was American, oh-</p><p>Oh!</p><p>“You’re the pretty American man,” Owen mumbled, blinking hard to try to see him but his vision seemed to go black from the change in pressure.</p><p>“I sure am, and you’re not using that posh English accent,” Curt (that was his name, right?) stated. “We don’t have long, we need to get out of here. Are you okay to move?”</p><p>“I can’t walk yet,” Owen mumbled, resting his head on the pretty man. “I can’t see.”</p><p>“Shit, okay, great,” Curt said, adjusting his hold on Owen to pick him up. He needed a hand free to shoot and get them out, but he didn’t want to make the problem worse by putting him upside down again, resulting in something between bridal style and a fireman’s hold. </p><p>“You have to pay for dinner this time,” Owen mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.</p><p>Curt laughed as he stood and headed out of the room, shooting enemies as he went. “Yeah, I’m gonna take you to a Yankees game.”</p><p>“You’re a Yankee,” Owen mumbled with a slight smile. Over a year since he’d seen the man after only knowing him for a night and they were already sliding into the sly back and forth they’d developed before.</p><p>“Yeah yeah, but do you know baseball?” Curt asked, shooting enemies as he went.</p><p>“I’m not fucking Welsh, I’m a Londoner,” Owen stated.</p><p>“The fuck does that mean?” Curt asked. He had a tone of someone trying to keep someone talking, which was reasonable.</p><p>Owen was sure he was going to be fine, but he did want to sleep to rest from all this. He’d try his best to stay awake though, if Curt was concerned. The man was too pretty to worry, even if Owen couldn’t really see him right now. “Baseball lives in Wales. Remember Wales? I told you about Wales.”</p><p>“What does <em>that</em> mean?” Curt asked.</p><p>“The Welsh like baseball,” Owen mumbled, “more popular there than London.”</p><p>“Okay, but why did you say it <em>lives</em> there?” Curt asked as he hid behind a corner and shot around it as best as he could.</p><p>“Because I was hanging upside down for hours,” Owen mumbled.</p><p>“You know, that’s fair,” Curt said, bolting towards the exit and running out into an alley in New York City.</p><p>“Do you know where you’re going?” Owen asked.</p><p>“I’m from Jersey,” Curt said as if that explained everything.</p><p>“... The island?” Owen joked.</p><p>“No! New Jersey!” Curt said, hurrying down the street as the Russian mafia chased after him.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Owen asked.</p><p>“Jersey,” Curt stated as he hurried and apparently flagged down a taxi. He opened the door to the car and took them both inside. He pulled something out of one of his pockets and handed it to the taxi driver. “I’ll give ya double that if ya take us to the football stadium and don’t ask questions.”</p><p>“No questions,” the man agreed and started driving.</p><p>Curt laid out Owen more flatly and it gave Owen more of a chance to really start to recover. “I bet you think I was talking about the game you call football.”</p><p>“American football is a different sport,” Owen stated wisely. “My vision is coming back by the way, still odd but it’s getting there. It’s like when you stand up too fast when you’re unwell but worse.”</p><p>“You started talking in the posh accent again, that’s how I knew you were starting to feel better,” Curt teased.</p><p>“Is that so?” Owen asked. “I assume you have a plan?”</p><p>“Of course I have a plan,” Curt scoffed.</p><p>“How long is the ride?” Owen asked.</p><p>“Between half an hour and an hour depending on various factors,” Curt assured. “I mighta asked him not to ask questions but clearly that doesn’t apply to you.” The tease in his voice was pleasant, he had a nice voice. Was Owen asking a lot of questions? Maybe, but it was justified given the situation Owen felt. Plus, it stopped him from saying what was on his mind.</p><p>“If you don’t want the questions you could throw me out of the car and let them have at me,” Owen teased back.</p><p>“Nah, I owe you food, can’t go back on a deal,” Curt teased back. “Do you have any other clothes?”</p><p>“I have what I’m wearing,” Owen muttered. What he was wearing had blood on it from when they’d ruffed him up and would likely need to be burned unless Curt knew some way to get a fair amount of blood out of things.</p><p>“We’ll get you something else. You can borrow mine until then,” Curt said.</p><p>It was a pain to be unable to talk about the things that actually needed to be discussed, but they had company. Owen sat up a bit, blinking back the spots in his vision before getting close to Curt’s ear and whispering, “You’re just as dreamy as I remember, you know.”</p><p>Curt turned beat red and pushed Owen gently to lay back down. “Cool it,” Curt said, looking in the driver’s direction, though the man was very clearly trying not to look at them. He likely thought they were involved in crime or something, good. It wasn’t Owen’s fault Curt was so handsome, really, what was he to do but tell him such?</p><p>“What, did I rattle your cage?” Owen teased. Curt’s blush was just so cute, it was wonderful. Making him blush also was not difficult and it was like a blessing from the universe.</p><p>“No, but you are giving me the royal shaft,” Curt muttered.</p><p>Owen laughed and shook his head. “Unfortunately for both of us I am not royal, and therefore what I <em>can</em> give you would not be royal…” he whispered instead, causing Curt to blush worse.</p><p>“Stop that!” Curt said as he rubbed at his face.</p><p>If Owen thought he was upsetting Curt, he would stop, of course he would, but he could see in Curt’s eyes that he liked the attention. He was modest and unused to this sort of talk from someone he thought was handsome, it was reasonable that he’d respond like this. If Owen thought he would overstep, he would simply not say that thing and back off. Currently though, despite Curt’s scolding he was clearly enjoying himself. “Love, you’re only going to make it worse if you rub your face.”</p><p>“Shut uuuup!” Curt whined.</p><p>They fell into the rhythm they’d developed at their last meeting, filling the trip to the football stadium with quips and quiet flirts that the driver either could not hear or was ignoring. The likelihood the man would talk was small, considering how much Curt had paid him and the fact that they were clearly dangerous men who the taxi driver would not want to cross. Owen wasn’t a killer by trade, he disliked unnecessary death to the point of injuring when possible instead. Still, when things were necessary, they were necessary. This was New York though, a city with enough dangerous groups that most people knew when not to talk, Owen was not concerned about this man telling on them.</p><p>Once they were out of the taxi, Curt helped Owen get to the nearest pay phone and dialed in a number. Owen rested against the wall beside the phone and took deep breaths to center himself. He was feeling better, but regardless, he would need to rest for a while to be back at 100%. “Who are you calling?” Owen asked.</p><p>“Hey, Mom, it’s me, can you pick me up from the football stadium?” Curt asked, leaving the conversation simple.</p><p>Owen couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he did give a ‘what the fuck’ gesture at Curt. His mom? Really? He was calling his mom?</p><p>“I’ll be waiting by the entrance, thanks, Mom. Oh, how’s Shirley doing?” Curt asked, waving off Owen.</p><p>Again he couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but he did make a silly face in the hopes of cracking Curt up and causing him to break character from whatever he was pulling at the moment.</p><p>Curt smiled and shook his head, making a face back at him. “Good, alright, I’ll see you there,” he said, hanging up. “Come on, we need to go around to the other side.”</p><p>“What was the code there?” Owen asked, wrapping an arm around Curt’s shoulder for assistance in walking.</p><p>“Entrance means back, Shirley means I have company,” Curt explained quietly. “You can never be too careful.”</p><p>“And you seriously called you mother? Or is that what you call your handler?” Owen asked in a whisper.</p><p>“No, no she’s really my mom,” Curt admitted.</p><p>Owen laughed. “Really? Second date and you’re already bringing me to meet your mum?”</p><p>“Ah, don’t flip your wig,” Curt said with a smile, nudging him a bit. “My <em>mum</em> was the wife of a spy and is now a mother of a spy. There’s few places better to take you. If I took you to an official place we won’t get to have our date now will we?”</p><p>“Careful using the ‘s’ word out here,” Owen warned.</p><p>“Oh now <em>you’re</em> the nervous one? Don’t worry, nobody around here’s a fink,” Curt assured as he got them settled against the back of the football stadium.</p><p>“I don’t know that one,” Owen said as he leaned against the wall.</p><p>“Fink? Oh uh… Nobody’s gonna rat us out. Pretty sure it comes from Germany and, or was a slang term for the Pinkertons? They crashed strikes and stuff, makes sense,” Curt attempted to explain.</p><p>“Learn something new every day,” Owen said, getting a bit too close to Curt to be socially appropriate. His tone also didn’t help, the slight tease to it could certainly be taken the way it was intended, as a slightly flirty statement.</p><p>Curt rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky and Owen considered that a win, because he didn’t push him away. When the car showed up in front of him, Curt helped Owen in and sat down beside him. “Hey, Mom,” he said as he closed the door.</p><p>“... Hello…” Owen said in an American accent.</p><p>“Hi! Are you one of Curt’s little friends?” the woman asked as she started to drive.</p><p>“Yes, Ma’am, I am,” he said, continuing in the accent. “My name is…” he looked to Curt to see what he should do.</p><p>“This is Owen,” Curt said, smiling towards his mother.</p><p>“<em>Owen?</em> Now that’s a nice name. You wanna stop with the accent now, or are you gonna keep playing with me? I know you’re not an American,” the woman stated.</p><p>Owen’s eyebrows shot up and he looked to Curt with surprise. “How do you know that?” he asked, continuing the accent.</p><p>“Because I worked for the Army Security Agency in WWII, do you know what that means?” the woman asked.</p><p>“You were a homeland spy,” Owen said in his proper accent, a smile creeping to his lips.</p><p>The woman shrugged. “More or less. We got stuff and tried to find codes and information,” she said. “But when you’re around that stuff you know what to look for.”</p><p>“What did you see?” Owen asked, amused.</p><p>“Your shoes. You’re a spy, obviously, but you don’t have the shoes they give Curt and his work friends. You had to have been on a mission, or you wouldn’t be roughed up, you were undercover, or you wouldn’t be dressed like that, but you aren’t wearing the shoes of an American,” the woman stated.</p><p>“Clever, more than people give you credit for I reckon,” Owen said with a smile.</p><p>“I like this one,” she said to her son, giving Owen a wink. “So you’re a Brit?”</p><p>“Yes, Ma’am,” Owen said.</p><p>“A charmer <em>and</em> polite. England trains their boys well, don’t they?” the woman said.</p><p>Curt groaned and rubbed his face. A nervous tick, Owen noted, specifically one Curt did when he was embarrassed. He hadn’t been sure before if it was a reaction to feeling shy and embarrassed or simply feeling embarrassed. It seemed to be due to the feeling of a blush forming, if Owen had to guess. “Mom, please don’t even vaguely flirt with my friends,” Curt groaned.</p><p>The woman laughed. “My name is Margerat by the way, call me Maggy,” she said to Owen. “I’m not gonna ask who did that to you, but there’s a bathroom in the basement and I’ll do your laundry.”</p><p>“Thank you, Ma’am,” Owen said with a smile.</p><p>“How can I resist that cute face?” Maggie said with a teasing wink.</p><p>“Mooooom!” Curt groaned, rubbing his cheeks.</p><p>Owen winked back at her to tell her he was in on the game of embarrassing Curt. She wasn’t actually into him, he could tell it was because she also liked to embarrass her son. The wink was to assure her that he was comfortable with it. He doubted she understood their relationship, but that was a good thing in the end, he knew that Curt didn’t want her to know. Still, Curt was cute when he blushed, so teasing him was worth it. He was like a tomato, it was adorable. How could he resist?</p><p>Soon they got to their home and Curt helped Owen into the house and into the basement. The space was nice, it had a couch and a radio along with a bathroom by the stairs and a mattress on the floor. It wasn’t too hot or cold, despite the cement floor and walls. In all it was plenty cosy for a hiding place for a spy until things cooled down. The pair spent the night hanging out in the basement, listening to Curt’s radio and talking quietly over some whiskey as the sun set. That was enough, that was enough. Owen would never push for more if Curt was not comfortable, and just spending time with him, getting to know him more was enough.</p><p>Curt was brave and headstrong and had the strangest eccentricities. He tried terribly hard to be cool and yet failed at that when you peeked even slightly under his mask. Curt denied himself so much of what he wanted in order to keep up those appearances, but couldn’t resist the urge to be himself even still, and Owen was quite fond of that person under the mask, he concluded. It was a shame they hardly ever saw each other, and would likely not see each other more than this. They would be lucky if after Curt dropped Owen off the next day, they saw each other even once more. In their line of work the likelihood of surviving was small, and moments of intimacy were fleeting. If there were any more certainty, Owen would not be so forward, but he wanted what he could have while there was time to have it.</p><p>Owen would not say he loved Curt. They had not known each other long enough for that, and saying love made it all more real, which neither of them wanted or needed. Saying love meant that hearing that the other died on a mission all the worse. And it was too soon, anyway. Owen was forward, yes, but in many ways he was as withdrawn as Curt, afraid to get close to another. Everyone Owen had loved before had died, his father in the war, his mother in the Blitz. Actually claiming intimacy and fondness introduced another, illogical, level of risk aside from the fact that they were both men, in that Owen feared anyone he loved would die painfully.</p><p>There was just something about that man though that Owen couldn’t shake. Even during their time apart he’d thought about him a fair bit. None of the other flings Owen had felt the same, no one ever clicked with him like Curt clicked with him. It was like he’d met his match, and that terrified him as much as it amazed him. He had not thought he would find someone, certainly there were factors that made it more difficult, but the fact that he had found someone he connected to so deeply just left him open to pain. They would never be able to truly be together, neither of them were the domestic sort even if they could. They would, more likely than not, die in their line of work, either due to being caught or simply catching a bullet in a foreign land.</p><p>Still… still… He could enjoy the time they did have together, he could enjoy the feeling of Curt’s lips on his in the dim light of the basement as jazz played quietly near them. He could enjoy the feeling of his head on Curt’s chest, the feeling of his warmth and the sound of his heartbeat. Owen could savor every last moment of this, so that he could commit it to memory, never to be forgotten. His memory was all he had of those he loved, this too would be one of those memories. Neither of them had to speak those words, had to discuss the situation, they both knew, they both felt the same. They could enjoy whatever nights together the world allowed, they need not discuss the fact that it could be their last.</p><p>In the morning, they lied to Curt’s mother about their sleeping arrangements and claimed to have a ‘fun boy’s night’ rather than the intimate evening they shared. Curt helped Owen pack up his things and gave him a correctly colored shirt so that he could blend in with the fans at the baseball stadium. Owen thought the whole thing was ridiculous, he had to get back to his handler and go through the situation, but even though they had only known each other a short time he could not get himself to refuse Curt a request, especially one he was so excited about.</p><p>“I know nothing about this sport,” Owen muttered as they sat down together in their seats. He had on an American accent again to blend in, along with a card and pencil Curt had given him. Owen had absolutely no idea what was happening, truly not a clue.</p><p>“Okay, there’s two teams,” Curt began.</p><p>“Yes I see that,” Owen muttered, causing Curt to laugh.</p><p>“Yeah yeah, okay, duh, but listen. There are two teams, one is offense and the other is defense. The one with the bat is offense, the one at the bases is defense. When they hit the ball you make this mark on your card,” Curt said, showing him what to do. “When they get on base you fill this in, and when they get out you mark here, basically.”</p><p>“You’ve slipped your accent,” Owen noted.</p><p>Curt drew back, surprised. “My accent?”</p><p>Owen looked at him with amusement. “Yes, your accent, you sound like you’re from New York,” he teased.</p><p>“Yee whiz, I wonder why,” Curt said sarcastically. “We’re at a Yankees game, I gotta show my team the respect they deserve.”</p><p>“You are a fucking Yankee, aren’t you?” Owen teased, slipping into his own accent as he spoke quietly.</p><p>“Yeah I am! We yankees showed you redcoats what for,” Curt replied.</p><p>Owen laughed before making a shocked expression, returning to the American accent. “Redcoat? What do you mean?! I am American, through and through, I bleed red, white, and blue!”</p><p>Curt laughed as well. “That’s a condition you should go to the doctor about, and even if you did, the British flag is red, white, and blue too.”</p><p>“Oh no, you’ve caught me, my cover is blown!” Owen said teasingly, dramatically throwing a hand on his head like the girls in movies.</p><p>Curt laughed hard at that and shook his head. “Watch the damn game, you goof.”</p><p>“What is there to watch? They seem to spend most of their time standing still,” Owen said.</p><p>“Don’t make fun of baseball, okay? I was considering doing baseball professionally,” Curt said.</p><p>“Is that so?” Owen asked.</p><p>“Yeah, decided my line of work was better off though, I wanted to do more with my life,” Curt said with a shrug. “It’s still one of the biggest loves of my life though, so no teasing.”</p><p>“I won’t tease baseball,” Owen agreed, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t tease things important to you.”</p><p>Curt studied him for a moment before bumping his shoulder against Owen’s. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say,” he said with an honest smile. “Do it again and I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich.”</p><p>“I could use a sandwich, I am a bit hungry,” Owen teased.</p><p>Curt laughed again and nudged his shoulder again. “Watch the damn game, and keep score on your card. I’m gonna test you on it later.”</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Yeah, and if you fail, you get to pay next time we go somewhere,” Curt concluded.</p><p>“Perhaps I’ll fail on purpose then,” Owen said with a sneaky grin.</p><p>“Such a dastardly villain,” Curt teased, bumping shoulders with him again fondly.</p><p>“Aren’t I just?” Owen teased back.</p><p>The day went on, the Yankees won, Owen lost, and Curt took him back to the agency without explaining what took so long. Owen explained his lost hours as blowing off steam after a mission gone wrong, because missing time is suspicious, and got in a bit of trouble. It was worth it though, any time with Curt was worth it. He had one of the best nights and days of his life simply because he spent them with a man he may never see again, and the trouble and future grief were worth it for those memories.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter is 'present' day, which will be Fun. I really wanted to use this chapter to contrast with the state of mind in the previous one to show how much Owen has been fucked over. The smoothness, effortless way he uses his intelligence and wit in comparison to the frantic and messy thought process of the present. He's such a smart cookie, when he has his wits about him he can do a lot, but when he doesn't he's taking in so much information and just doesn't know what to do with it, which makes everything about the situation worse. Next chapter will not be so fun.</p>
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